


Warmth

by GACfan33



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GACfan33/pseuds/GACfan33
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt spend a night together relaxing in Jaskier's office after a long day of working apart.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first story on Ao3, so I'm a bit nervous to be posting it! Hopefully I didn't do such an awful job, and I hope you all like it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

There’s an ache pressing against his spine as it screams in protest for him to sit up properly. “Stop hunching over this damn desk before you’re stuck like that,” it screams. 

The pen taps against his notebook momentarily, leaving minuscule dots of black ink below the words. He contemplates if he’s earned the right to sit back, relieve the tension from his aching bones. His notebook is filled with black markings and notes in the margins, indicating revisions before the story is even fully fleshed out. 

Once he’s deemed the work fit enough to relax, he stretches back, wincing at the momentary flare of pain from not moving in so long. His back stretches further, trying to overcompensate for the hours misshapen by leaning just a bit too far in the opposite direction. 

His cornflower blue eyes are bleary from staring at pages for so long, pupils dilating and adjusting to the light in the room. 

An old lamp stands in the corner by a bookshelf, brass-like metalwork shining softly beneath the shade. The light itself emits a soft yellow glow across the room, barely lighting up the space well enough to see. Geralt doesn’t understand why he insists on keeping this lamp, he’s seen much nicer and powerful ones at the store. 

It’s not his aesthetic, he’d complain. The brass-like workings and yellowed lampshade compliment the dark wood décor of his office. The light was never too harsh on the eyes, nor was its reflection off the dark wood of his desk, allowing him to work for a few hours longer. 

There’s a soft knock at the door, blue eyes blinking over to it slowly as he bit back a quiet yawn. 

The wooden door creaks open slowly, just enough for a head of white hair to pop in. “Can I come in?” 

A content hum blossoms in Jaskier’s chest, lethargy flooding his system at the sight of Geralt. He can relax now. 

A deep chuckle echoes through the room as Geralt takes in the sleepy, dopey look on Jaskier’s face. He pushes the door open further with his hip, hands occupied by two steaming mugs. Stepping into the room fully, he softly kicks the door shut behind him, mentally chiding himself to buy WD-40 on his next trip out when the door squeaks again. 

He walks to Jaskier’s desk, silently offering the mug in his left hand to the sleepy brunette. Jaskier lazily takes the mug in both hands, cradling the warm blue ceramic between his palms. His calloused fingers brush against Geralt’s for a brief moment as he takes the mug, and Geralt can’t help but relish in the small touch. 

Once he’s sure the mug is secure in the sleepy musician’s hands, he makes his way over to the loveseat beside Jaskier’s desk. The thing looks ripped straight from the 1930’s, dark wood curling intricately to encase a plush, yellow cushioning. Jaskier had insisted it complimented the aesthetic of a true poet’s office. Geralt just thought it was Jaskier’s attempt to surround him with bright colors for once. 

He sat on the loveseat nonetheless, setting his own simple, black mug to the side. Jaskier bought the loveseat so they could spend more time with him while Jaskier worked. That was time seldom wasted. 

Geralt’s golden eyes perused the bookshelves behind Jaskier’s desk in the dim light, looking for spines with no wear on them, indicating his husband snuck more books into their home. He never actually minded, sometimes he’d even read a few of the books Jaskier brought home. Always fun to tease him with though.

Another hum of content breaks Geralt’s trance, watching Jaskier cradle the mug just below his mouth. His eyes are closed, fully enjoying the hot cocoa with far too many marshmallows dissolving in it. Geralt’s lips twitch at the sight, wanting to smile at his husband’s antics. He’s just as tired as Jaskier, though, weights pulling down on his eyes after a long day of work. 

“How is the writing coming?” 

Jaskier hums again, relinquishing the warmth of his mug to look over his notebook. “It’s alright, haven’t felt much inspiration lately, I suppose.” He pauses to take a sip of warm cocoa, a half-dissolved marshmallow bumping his nose. “I haven’t filled up a whole notebook yet this month.” 

A chuckle rumbles from Geralt’s chest and he looks over to Jaskier’s calendar hanging on the wall, marking important meetings and crossed out dates. “It’s the sixteenth, that must be a new record.” 

Jaskier foot brushes against the spine of a notebook under his desk, one he’d been referencing to help with the writing in his current one. He’d pushed it aside when he had everything he needed, insisting he needed all the space on his desk to make masterpieces. He’d filled that notebook in ten days. 

Jaskier picks his mug back up, looking over the white detailing in the ceramic as it’s warmth sinks back into his fingers. The detailing is nothing overly intricate, just outlines of flowers blowing in the breeze of the blue backdrop. It was a gift from Geralt when they moved into their first apartment together. That was years ago now.

Taking a long drink of hot cocoa and listening to Geralt shift in the loveseat, Jaskier feels warmth blossom in his chest. The feeling lulling him, tension dripping away from his shoulders and back, body sinking further into the cushioned padding of his office chair. 

He glances at Geralt over the rim of his mug, blue eyes dopey and love-struck as Geralt looks over a book that had been sitting on the table beside the love seat. The book itself was nothing special, and Geralt was never particularly enamored by any book that didn’t have Jaskier’s name on it. The covers though, Jaskier often found Geralt studying the covers of books while he listened to Jaskier work. Feeling the different textures, comparing covers of the same book in different print editions. 

This particular book is a simple black hardcover with limited gold detailing. The hardcover slightly warped and worn, as Jaskier had picked it up at an antique store earlier that week. 

Through bleary eyes, however, Jaskier notices Geralt’s hand moving almost lethargically across the book’s cover. Geralt’s golden eyes blink rapidly, as if fighting to stay open and trained on the book. The mug of steaming black coffee never did work any wonders on Geralt. He argued on many occasions that coffee holds the same effect over him that hot cocoa does for Jaskier. 

Jaskier pulls the mug down to his chest, letting the warmth radiate onto him. The warmth is nice, cathartic even, but it’s not right anymore. The blossoms in his chest aren’t the warm duvet pulled over his shoulders at night, sandwiching him against a warm, beating heart. Here there are no toned arms running equally calloused fingers up and down his arm, no rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. There is no steady flow of breath disrupting his hair with every exhale. 

“Geralt?” 

Golden eyes snap up, now alert and awake. The book in his handle almost fumbles from the shock. Jaskier almost feels bad, knowing his love was on the brink of sleep. Almost because he knows Geralt would kill him for letting him sleep on a loveseat that gives him neck cramps. 

“Would you like to go to bed, Love?” 

“But your writing.” 

Jaskier pushes his chair away from the desk, stretching his legs out and taking a deep breath. He prepares for the ever-treacherous journey of standing up on half-asleep legs. 

“I couldn’t write another word if I wanted.” Jaskier gives him a lopsided, sleepy smile in reassurance before pulling himself up out of the chair. 

One hand stays securely on the warm ceramic of his mug. The other reaches out to Geralt as he shuffles over to the love seat, feeling particularly in need of touch. 

Geralt’s large hand interlaces with Jaskier’s warmth, encasing the overworked hand. The warmth creeps up through Jaskier’s fingers and arm, allowing the blossoming feeling in his chest to explode. A fuzzy warmth rushes through Jaskier’s nerves, lulling him into serenity and pushing him closer to Geralt’s body heat. 

This. This is right.


End file.
